If you fall I will catch you,
I'll be waiting
Time after time”
-Cyndi Lauper

Precipice: the brink of
a dangerous or critical
turning point

Weathered: changed, worn, or aged in color, texture, or form because of long exposure to sun, wind, rain, or other elements

+++++++

There are moments in time in which
you stand on the precipice of news
that will upend your whole reality.

That is where I find myself
in this moment.

In a few hours,
we meet with my oncologist
where we expect to hear
what the liver cancer treatment plan
will be moving forward.

I have no idea what the doctor
is going to say.

And so all I can do is pray.

For good treatment options.
For hope that this is not the end.

But above all, I pray
for acceptance
of all that is to come.

"Thy will be done."

Be it
hurt and heartbreak

Be it
hope and healing.

Be it
years lengthened or shortened.

But I am tired.

I am out of strength
to push forward no matter
the circumstances.

I have lost my way:
So I will seek Your way for me.

I have lost myself.
So I will seek Your life for me.

I sit in silence.

And I wait for God, for Love,
to lead me through the unknown.

Suddenly I am struck with these words:

"It is all a gift. One giant gift."

Yet knowing that in this moment
doesn't feel like a gift.

But I will hold on to the paradox.

For I know that
through Death
comes
Resurrection.

So I will carry my heavy, weathered cross
as long as I must
until I am told,

"It is finished."

+++++++

It's time to go to my appointment.

Will You please meet me there?

“Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look around and see. Is any suffering like my suffering which was dealt out to me, with which the Lord has afflicted me…?
-Lamentations 1:12a

Fortitude: mental and emotional strength. It helps a person face pain, danger, or hard times with courage and without giving up.

+++++++

I should have known.

As soon as I heard the doctor's optimism, "after we treat these liver tumors, hopefully nothing will come back for years"
that was my cue to worry.

This time it is no different.

We got the results
from the MRI.

It showed two new lesions
that look like the cancers
I just had ablated.

I'm not elated.

Instead of years
until tumors would
show up again,
I got days.

12 days in fact.

And instead of a balm,
that optimism now feels like
salt on the wound.

So I'm a little salty.

And sad.

Now we spend the weekend
in wait
as we wonder our fate.

It doesn't look great.

And I hate that I have to
deliver more unwanted news.

This body in this moment
feels like a prison.

And I remain locked
behind bars
without
sunlight or sustenance.

This gorgeous day
looks like nothing
but grey.

I am lost
and have nothing to say.

So I'll pray.

Without words.

The only sound will be
the hurt of my heart.

Will You stay
with me here?

Will You visit me in my bodily
holding cell
that's too tired to continue?

Come wake me up
with Your wisdom.

Help me, yet again,
to accept my circumstances.

Wade with me in these deep waters of
wailing and
worry and
wanting.

Wanting and longing.

Longing for the day
when I weep no more.

Truthfully,
I'm too tired for tears.

Exhausted by the fears
I continue to carry in this existence.

Allison and I will meet
with my doctor on Monday
to discuss
what treatment options
look like
at this point.

I wonder: will there be treatment options?

Suddenly, I want more time.

With Allison.
With Maya.
With all of you.

Because, even still,
I know
this is Love's Story.

And surely as I
think that very thought,
a wave of hope
washes over me.

And I see the sun
and the Golden Finch.

I hear laughter
from a neighbor.

I watch our dog playing fetch.

Allison texts me a picture
of a red dragonfly from our backyard.

More! More!

Give me more
of these moments!

Because now I remember
what it's like to fall in love.

All over again.

More!

I've finally found the fortitude
to make it to Monday.

And for now, that is enough.

…But before all of that…

+++++++

The days after
my liver cancer ablation
left me ragged and rough.

Walking 10 steps made
my whole body shut down
and gasp for air,
causing a piercing pain
—like a thorn in my side—
following every breath.

And I could do nothing about it,
but find a way to live with it.

No good options or choices
were available to me.

And pain meds worked
only minimally.

After several days of this,
I could only imagine,
"I'm going to feel like this forever."

When the thorn in your own body
is causing
this type of perpetual pain,
there comes no easy relief.

Because I realized that the thorn
was not on the surface
to be easily seen and plucked,
but was embedded into
my insides.

What do we do when the thorn is
impossible to remove?
OR
How do we behold
The Rose
without being pricked by
The Thorn?
OR
How do we see only beauty
when our whole self is demanding
that we be alert for the hurt?
AND
What do we do when we know
the thorns are neverending?

At this point in my life
I have had thousands of thorns
thrust through my flesh
throughout my body.

And from my perspective,
what has happened over time
has turned into a pattern.

So I muse,
"Against all appearances
could
the thorns attached to the rose
reveal
a Holy pattern…Love's pattern?"

Then I reflect on myself as I ponder,
"Could the wounding
have come from
not only my genetics,
but from God’s Divine Doing?"

Filtering through my experiences
of medical thorns and afflictions
I do identify with the idea
that they have come from
my damaged DNA
and God, which is Love.

All rolled into one little body.

How could they not be?

For my DNA has been frail
from the start.

Love is that which has
knitted me
in my mother's womb.

And God has thrust me
into the Refiner's Fire.

All have gazed upon and known
this broken body.

Fast forward to today and
still weaved within
is
walking windedness.

My whole path,
medically worn,
has born a continuous
thorn after thorn.

Yet, rather than becoming cynical
—by humility and time—
I have found the thorns
full of Love
even declaring, "You're mine."

It is Love—waiting to be
realized and lamented
so that it may move
from hurt to healing.

After the sting
and the pain,
the thorn becomes brittle,
and breaks open—again.

Inside is found
Air, Space and Breath,
The Indwelling Spirit,
and
my wholeness.

And what once made me
recoil
has transmuted into
reconciliation.

And I bear the marks—
a new scar,
a new story,
a new healing.

I know it takes more than
just one thorn
to realize this Holy pattern.

AND

It is no fault if you
do not find this pattern
to be true in your circumstances.

Yet, as for me,
this shedding of blood
and of tears
does come to an end
as it casts away fears.

But before that full healing and that sweet relief?

Many hard moments and sadness and grief.

OR

Before New Life
The Cross
comes
for us all.

Resurrection
will happen,
but first, The Fall.

As we continue on in our life’s journey
may we each discover for ourselves that:
Every Rose has its Thorn.

+++++++

Thank you for all of your
prayers and support
throughout
this latest cancer surgery.

Allison and I are so grateful
for each and every one of you.

Through your
kindness and caring,
I am finally past the
worst of the pain
and moving steadily into
a restorative recovery.

On August 19,
I will have an MRI
to see if all tumors
were fully ablated
AND
to come up with
a liver surveillance plan
for the rest of my life.

The rose pictured here is
inspired by those
who help me to recognize
the thorny truth
within
every beautiful thing.

"Wait and hope for and expect the Lord; be brave and of good courage and let your heart be stout and enduring. Yes, wait for and hope for and expect the Lord."
-Psalm 27:14

Deliverance: rescue, salvation, or liberation from danger, bondage, or a bad situation.

Obliterate: to destroy, wipe out, or remove all traces of something completely

Erode: to slowly wear away, damage, or destroy something bit by bit

Futility: uselessness, pointlessness,
or a complete lack of success.
It describes actions or efforts that have no effect or cannot achieve a goal

+++++++

Time ticks away to this Thursday and my liver cancer ablations.

Let me start with a clarification.

When I prayed,
"Oh God, deliver me!"

I think The Spirit heard,
"Oh God, DeLIVER me!"

And so, as I go into this DeLIVERance,
God willing,
three tricky tumors
will
meet their match.

God willing,
we will ablate
and obliterate
these pesky testy cancers.

I pray this will be
an outpatient surgery.

I pray the pain will be minimal.

In truth, part of me
has already moved on
from this surgery
as I instead wonder how long
it will take before
the tumors plot their return.

With this body that
I've been given,
I don't have the luxury to think,
"This will be the end of cancer."

With this body that
I've been given,
there will be no end
to the scans and scalpels
that constantly erode
the very foundations of
my health,
my strength, and
my ability
to bounce back.

Now, this is where I'm supposed to
tell you how horrible life is
and then fall
on my own sword
repeatedly in futility.

But I won't do that.

Because I can't do that.

For for all the pain and agony and the suffering in silence
and in public,
the truth remains:
I still feel held.
I still feel loved.
I still have hope
that there is more sweetness
to come for you and for me,
individually and collectively.

I don't only believe this.

I'm constantly experiencing it.

It just...happens.

It is Truth.

Knowing this personally,
I say a humble "Yes."
to more slicing and surgeries.

I say a humble "Yes."
to more scans and scars.

I say a humble "Yes."
to giving my life over to strangers,
trusting they have
my best interest at heart.

This is all I can and must do,
if I want to continue
in this world with all of you.

Being in
your presence
and
Your Presence
is still worth it.

And as I'm led by Love
to the next sculpting and shaping
of this bewildered body,
I also carry with me every time
I have made it through
the deeps and the dark.

I carry with me each story of survival.

Based on my past experiences,
making it through this time is my
desire,
hope, and
expectation.

This time I'm challenging myself
to declare victory
even when
it looks like I might be
headed towards
a bleak and bitter defeat.

I will reframe that defeat
into
something bittersweet.

I will take take the fears
and the tears
and ask God to steer
this broken body
into a safe harbor.

Into a restful place.

Into home base.

And what once felt like a misinterpretation
will become my cry and expectation.
"Oh God, DeLIVER me,
again and again!"

Let us all wait, hope, and expect
Love's deliverance
as we each play our parts
in this delicate Divine Dance called Life.

Agency: the capacity or power
of an individual to act
independently,
make their own choices,
and exert control over their own life

What will we do with this time,
this time? -SB

+++++

What I'm about to share
may seem like
a fool's errand
to some.

But if we can take it to heart
and let it challenge and change us,
there is an opportunity
for true growth and healing
for ourselves and others.

The grand celebrations are over
The magical milestone passed
So let us remember our history
And build upon that which will last

It's time for a rebirth and
to set a new vision
for who We, The People,
of The United States of America
will become
over the next 250 years.

We cannot change
what has happened.

Nor should we forget
what has been painful and difficult
and has caused fractures and schisms
between one another.

But we are all responsible
for what today
and the days ahead
will look like.

Being responsible for the future
requires
an honest look at our past
to make sure we do not
gloss over that past
or wish it away,
like it never happened.

We must include it all.

The terrible and the beautiful.

My hope and prayer is that
we also pause and reflect on
the moments that
have filled all of us with
pride
and the moments
that have taught us how
to serve others,
in every single way.

Let us remember those moments
and let them carry us
forward
into the future.

Today, let us use our resources and
our privileges
to empower anyone and everyone
who believes that they have
no voice,
no agency, and
no control
over their own lives.

Accepting our faults
and our flaws,
let us learn to
laugh together again.

And let those laughs
bring forth new dreams,
fresh ideas, and
every ounce of compassion
we can muster
because we will need
all these ideas and ideals
if we are to make
the next 250 years
brighter, kinder,
and more welcoming
to those who have been
forgotten
or
suppressed
or
oppressed
by a few who believe they hold
the power
over
the people.

Humble us all.

Give us courage when we fall.

But, most of all, let us be willing
to relearn how to
best
love ourselves,
our neighbors,
and those we have yet to meet.

I'm hopeful we can create
an environment of
hospitality, generosity and grace
and give everyone a safe place
to belong and to rest their head.

My friends, what do we want
this country to become?

America:
who are we willing to become
and
what are we willing to do
to not just survive,
but to change and to grow
in deeper community, understanding,
and appreciation of each other
for these next 250 years?

May the God of Love,
the God of all people,
prepare our hearts and minds
to ensure every single person
is welcomed and honored
simply because
they are part of the human family
so that we may
proudly and truthfully say,
"We live in
The United States of America.

+July 29, 2026+

+++++++

Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on -Queen

Sneak: means to move, do,
or take something secretly
to avoid being noticed

Façade: the front or outer face
of a building, or a
false, misleading
outward appearance.

+++++++

These 2 statements should tell you
all you need to know.

“Trump had said the repairs would last a century, but within days of the project’s initial completion last month, the water was beset by an algae bloom and pieces of the new coating appeared to be peeling off the bottom.” -AP

“The new liner appears grayer than when the pool was repainted and refilled with water in early June.” -AP

+++++++

I sneak a peek into
The Reflecting Pool.

I see myself.

Green algae blooms all around
reflect the cancer cells
that continue
to bloom inside of me.

Peeling, cracked and flaking paint
reflects
the surgeries,
the scars, and
the scares
that peel away
the layers of
my flesh,
my joy, and
my hope.

Millions and millions of dollars
spent on repairing
This Pool and This Body
only to leave it more diseased,
more wrecked, and worse off
than before this reconstruction
took place.

And the promise of
American Flag Blue
has turned out to be
Diseased Dull Grey.

That’s what I see when I peer
into The Reflecting Pool.

Broken,
Battered,
Beaten,
Bankrupt,

The Reflecting Pool
reflects me.

And, as we try to mask
the obvious disease, decay, and destruction of a country as it barrels through
250 years as a “Free Nation”
while simultaneously
pushing and profiting from
a parody of political power,
we can’t help but realize:
The Reflecting Pool is a reflection
of all of
us within the U.S.

But we dare not admit it.

So we blame
we scapegoat,
we deflect,
we dismiss.

We lie and give any excuse we can
before we take responsibility
for our complicity, ownership, and creation
of the obvious muck, mess, and chaos
of our shared waters and
our shared humanity.

We falsely accuse others
for our poor choices.

We wash our hands
in our feeble and futile attempts
to wash away and make clean
the algae blooming in
our hearts and minds.

At some point,
the truth will be revealed
and we will be held to account
for our role in poisoning The Pool.

Some say The Pool reflects
our selfishness.
Some say The Pool reflects
our sin.
Some say The Pool reflects
our futility.

But let’s look a little bit closer.

A little bit deeper.

Past the façade shimmering on the surface

For I know there is
something more to see,
if we’re willing to look through
Love’s lens.

When we do that, then
selfishness reflects community,
sin reflects forgiveness,
futility reflects industry.

Then our dread of drowning
becomes
gentle wading in water.

When we can clearly see
what is wrong and
what is hopeful,
we have a choice.

Do we stay stuck in the muck
and sulk
in sadness and in self?

Truthfully, sometimes we do.

But, can we also see
how to heal and restore
these lifeless waters?

Can we bring them back to life
so they again can reflect
the natural beauty of each and
every one of us?

Today, what areas of your lives will
The Reflecting Pool
reflect
back to you?

May we have the courage
to see the reality and
current state of our being and
strive to do our do diligence
so that we may reflect only that
which serves Love and our neighbors.

Now, when I look
into The Reflecting Pool,
may I see only You.

+++++++

This image is taken from
our own reflecting pond.

Look closely to see
Phineas and Pheona
swiftly swimming around
the water lily.

So do not worry or be anxious
about tomorrow,
for tomorrow will have worries
and anxieties of its own.
Sufficient for each day is
its own trouble. -Matthew 6:34

++++++

I'm writing to you from
the sixth floor of the
MHealth Fairview
West Bank Hospital.

Allison drove me to the ER
Tuesday morning as I was
experiencing a
fever,
cough,
congestion,
shortness of breath,
lightheadedness, and
dizziness.

So what did my body
order up for me?
Pneumonia and Parainfluenza 4.

With a Side of Sepsis.

I was first put on a bed
in the ER's hallway
with 20 other unfortunate friends.

To me, we looked like
a pile of actors
playing victims
who were in a horrible accident
on The Pitt.

And no, Noah Wyle was not present.

Immediately they started me
on antibiotics and
10 hours later,
I was driven by ambulance
to my hospital room.

And here I sit in bed
with more antibiotics
running from my IV into my veins
as a gentle, kind nurse bends down
to drain the urine from my urostomy bag.

(I'm still processing that
humbling moment.)

And, I wonder?

How did I get here?

Was it from my
very infrequent outing
to see a show last Saturday?

And while I ponder, I realize that
I haven't even updated you on
my liver cancer plan.

But it takes some effort
to type out these words
when you're not feeling well.

Well, anyway...

Fortunately, before I went
to the ER,
we were able to keep
our appointment
with the liver surgeon.

His final recommendation
was to use ablation
to dissolve the tumors
along with surrounding areas
in order
to get clean margins.

This type of ablation uses microwaves
—yes, just like a microwave oven—
that will turn the tumors
into scar tissue.

The surgeon held up his hands
to show how big the ablation
for the largest tumor will be
and it looked like
the size of a lemon.

He said it will be painful
on the surface of my liver,
where the nerves are,

making it feel like
your insides are burning.

Gulp...Shutter...Repeat.

The procedure itself is
pretty straightforward
and is a good treatment option
for this type cancer.

However,
the best option,
the curative one,
would be a liver transplant.

But, due to the many cancers
I have survived,
I would not be a candidate.

I debated for a second
if I should say,
"It's precisely *because*
I've survived so many cancers
that I would be a good candidate
for a transplant."

Alas, I just nodded yes
to the ablation option
and thanked him for
his expertise and thoughtfulness
in realistically telling me
what can be done.

So, since I cannot have
a curative transplant,
I'll obviously retain
my same old liver,
which my surgeon
is quite certain
will continue to
grow more cancers.

And the hardest part
was when he said,
"And more tumors
will return within
2 months?
2 years?
We'll only know
when, when
they reappear."

Only know when, when...?

And so, again, I'll have
another body part
microscopically scanned and
analyzed from all angles.

And so, again, I'll have
another body part
which requires us
to hold our breath
at each and every
future appointment.

And my heart is hit with
another round of grief.

Another agony
which burns deeply,
as if having an ablation
on my very soul.

I will sit in stillness as the burns
transmute into scars on my liver
and my whole being.

And now I wait for the
burning to begin.

And I will pray earnestly
to be burned awake
into the present situation
and the moment I am in.

Because it is by being
truly present that
I can now see,
by the Grace of God,
that going to Mayo, Clinic
even with all of the calamities
that ensued, also ensured
I would get another PET/CT
which would reveal the tumors
in my liver.

Without that trip,
I would not have had a PET/CT
anytime soon and
those tumors would still be growing,
unnoticed and unabated.

That fact humbles me deeply
and brings me to bear witness
to the shear awe and possibility
that every moment
can be full of significance.

And it is from a million of these
little tender mercies and mysteries
over my whole life,
and especially the past 15 years,
that I have continued to grow

in Grief
and
in Grace

in Despair
and
in Dreams

in Sadness
and
in Simplicity.

All from small
morsels
made into moments
that seem insignificant
to everyone else.

But that are absolutely life saving
to me.

So today, I will savor
every scar,
every affliction and
every miracle
that I'm currently wrestling with.

For I know tomorrow's
wonders,

worries, and
words can
wait
'til tomorrow comes.

+++++++

This picture comes courtesy of
our Mayo Clinic trip
guardian angel,
who shared their
Lifesavers
with us
as we were about to meet the
lifesavers
who first found the liver tumors
that would lead us to this
present path.

Know that every one
of your prayers, comments,
and encouraging words
are also little lifesavers
I receive with gratitude each day.

.

Raise your hopeful voice,
you have a choice
You'll make it
now"

-Glen Hansard and
Markéta Irglová

+++++++

Engulfed: to be completely surrounded, covered, or overwhelmed by something

Capsized: a boat that's overturned, flipped onto its side or is completely upside down in the water. It typically happens accidentally due to strong waves, heavy winds, sudden weight shifts, or sharp, high-speed turns

Take Solace: to find comfort, peace, or relief in a time of distress, sadness, or misfortune

+++++++

Well, the biopsy results are in.

And here's the diagnosis:
Moderately differentiated
hepatocellular carcinoma,
macrotrabecular massive subtype
OR
HCC-MTM for short.

In a surprise
to all of the doctors, and us,
it is not a metastatic cancer
but rather cancer that has
originated in the liver.

We have an appointment
with a liver specialist on Monday
to go over what this means and
hopefully we'll learn
what treatment options
are available.

And, since we're human beings,
Allison and I
made our way to the Internet
to see what information
we could glean in the
meantime.

Here's what we learned...
...actually, scratch that.

I'm not going to tell you
what we learned
because, bottom line,
it will be whatever the doctor
tells us it will be.

And, I don't want to
bring you down
the same rabbit hole
that we went down,
when there are
no clear answers yet.

But know this:

We went there.
We went everywhere.

Why?

Because the mind
craves certainty.

It wants the answer
so it can strategize
what comes next.

We want to be informed
as much as we can
so we have a moment
to absorb the shock
of the diagnosis
and then
prepare our questions
for the doctor.

So,
we look and
we ponder and
we process.

But, in truth,
we have no idea
what the doctor will say
about what this diagnosis means.

We're sailing rudderless
through choppy waters.

We don't know if
we're headed off into
another terrible storm…
…maybe…probably?

And we don't know
how close
this bodily boat is
to being engulfed
by a rogue wave
and capsized.

So we wait once
more for
The Captain to chart
our next course.

While we wade and wait
in these rough waters
for Monday to come,
will you wade and wait
with us?

Will you help us stay afloat
in these moments
in between?

Constantly living
with hard things
seems to be
the default mode
of our lives.

And I want you to know that
there are many others
who also
live with this reality
day in and day out.

And, at the end of the day,
I hope and I pray
that all of us are seen
in these
desperate,
drowning
dilemmas
and that a lifeguard
will be close by
to drag us from the deeps
if/when our boat begins to sink.

+++++++

This is a picture of us
with our dear friend, Judy.

Judy drove all the way from Houston, TX to visit friends and family
and made a special trip
just to be with us.

When I am low and heavy
with despair,
it is the people in my community,
like Judy, like you,
that reveal that there is
still goodness and hope in this world.

It reminds me that
Love's story is never over.

And as I wait for Monday,
I will try to take solace in that.

So, be slow if you must, but let
the heart still play its true part.
love still as once you loved, deeply
and without patience. Let God and the world
know you are grateful.
That the gift has been given.
-Mary Oliver, The Gift

+++++++

Jubilation: feeling or expression of great joy, triumph, or celebration.

Despondency: a profound emotional state of utter hopelessness, dejection, and discouragement

Palliative: a treatment, medicine, or action that reduces pain, stress, or the severity of a disease without curing the underlying cause

Vigilant: the state of being keenly alert, watchful, and carefully attentive to spot potential danger, trouble, or problems

Delusional: holding a firmly fixed, false belief that persists despite clear, objective evidence to the contrary.

+++++++

On my 40th birthday,
my dear friend, Mackenzie,
threw me a huge celebration.

Thanks to her, I was able
to connect with
so many of my friends and family.

The gratitude I have for everyone
who showed up that day
with their love and support
is boundless.

During the celebration,
I had the chance to speak
to all who were in the room.

I cannot remember
exactly everything I said,
but I remember one word
that encapsulated all I felt
in that moment for the
7 years and 5 months since
my diagnosis of Fanconi Anemia.

But first, a side note/track:

7 years and 5 months?
"Sean, why do you
measure your age
so specifically?"

"Thanks for asking.
When you live with
an incurable disease
like Fanconi Anemia,
sometimes months may be
all you have to offer."

Side note/track over.

The word was *Gift*.
It was a *Gift* to have lived
that 7 years and 5 months since my diagnosis of Fanconi Anemia.

It was a *Gift* that
the medical advances
had come so far so that
I was able to
extend my life significantly.

It was a *Gift* to have grown
in patience, humility, and love.

And it was a *Gift* that I had
so many friends and family
who continued to support me
throughout those
7 years and 5 months.

My dear friend, Amy,
would have called them
"bonus years."

And after those 7.5 years
I have been given another 7.

And that is all pure and generous *Gift*.

But, know this:
A *Gift* doesn't only mean
something good.

A *Gift* can be so much more.

Like when you're so excited
to get a *Gift*
because you think you know
what it is
and then when you
finally unwrap it
you realize it is
not
the *Gift* you had been
expecting and counting on.

Like when the doctor says,
"Good news!
You don't have to have radiation"
and in the very same breath says,
"but you might have
metastatic liver cancer."

Even in the same breath
you can go from
jubilation to despondency.

But that 40th Birthday Celebration?

That was all a life-giving *Gift*.

Because that day of my 40th,
I got
to laugh and
to cry and
to grow
in love and
gratitude and
hope.

It was in that moment
when the sheer weight of the word *Gift*
became so heavily saturated
with meaning for my life

Unexpected *Gifts* can also be
hard to unbearable.

Like cancer.

It is so hard,
it is all consuming, and yet,
it has opened my eyes
and my heart
to the suffering of
others in addition to myself.

I hesitate sharing that with you
because
I don't wish cancer on anyone
nor do I believe that everyone
always finds meaning
in having this dreadful disease.

But I also want you to know,
from my personal experience,
there can be
a grace and
a gentleness and
a peace like no other
that can also come,
most unexpectedly,
wrapped up in the *Gift*.

To me a *Gift* is all inclusive.

Last week,
there came a hard *Gift*.

It wasn't the life-giving *Gift*
we all have been
hoping and praying for.

My MRI scan revealed that
there are at least
3 spots on my liver
that look like cancer
that has metastasized
from somewhere else
in my body.

The doctors met on Friday
to discuss my case.

Since it is rare for cancer
to metastisize
from the oral cavity to the liver,
they are now wondering
if it has metastasized
from somewhere else.

The new possibilities they are pondering
are from my bladder cancer
or a skin cancer.

We're waiting for a biopsy
on Monday
to have a 100% confirmation
of what it is, where it originated,
and how aggressive it might be.

These are necessary steps to determine
if there is a treatment for me.

Most likely, it is not curable.

When I spoke with
our nurse coordinator,
she said that
treatment would be palliative.

But, wherever it came from,
here we are.

And the *Gift* keeps on giving.

Allison and I are
still shocked and
still saddened
by this news.

And I am feeling an awful awe
because,
even though we have been
as vigilant as we possibly could
in screening for cancer,
we couldn't get ahead of
this outcome.

By now you're probably thinking,
"What kind of delusional *Gift* is that?"

It's the kind that
breaks everything open.

The kind that
feels more and knows more.

For the true *Gift* is found
when Love unwraps your full self.

And now, my dear friends,
I am completely unwrapped.

I've been torn open like
a little child
ripping through wrapping paper
on their birthday.

And now I am able to reveal
my full self with you.

In the days ahead,
as we learn more about
what this means moving forward,
I will try to keep you updated
as best I can.

This December,
it will be 15 years since
my Bone Marrow Transplant.

I hope I am able to
celebrate and unwrap
the *Gift* buried within
that miraculous milestone.

But for now,
my thoughts and my heart
are with Allison and Maya,
and you
and *You*.

Your continued prayers,
kind and healing thoughts,
and unconditional love
are the best *Gifts* that
you can offer us, anytime.

And, also, know that
you can offer those *Gifts*
to everyone else, too.

Because
a *True Gift*
is
a *Free Gift*.

And now *The Gift*
of Love's plan for my life
Has. Set. Me. Free.

We have received the results
from the MRI and
Allison and I would like to
share them with you.

The MRI showed
three spots on my liver.

With a biopsy still pending
for absolute confirmation,

it is almost certain
that they are all cancer.

It is almost certain
that they have metastasized
from my recent oral cancer
to my liver.

Meaning the cancer has
most likely traveled
through the lymph nodes
throughout my body.

If this is true,
the cancer is not curable.

And because I have
Fanconi Anemia,
typical treatment options
are limited.

Allison and I are
carrying the weight of this news,
while also trying to learn
what our options might be.

In the meantime, we continue
to be grateful for your prayers
healing thoughts
as we sit and contemplate
all of the heavy and
life-changing scenarios.

We will continue to
share updates
as more information
becomes available.

Thank you all
for the tender, caring
love and support
you continue to offer us
every day.

We love you all.

Concerning: "about," "regarding," or "on the subject of"
AND
Concerning: "worrying," "alarming," or "causing anxiety"

Independence: the quality or state of being free from the control, support, or influence of others

In dependence: in the state of needing someone or something for support or survival

+++++++

My dear friends,

We are back home from
our whirlwind, darkly-comedic trip
to *The* Mayo Clinic.

Our two days there
felt more like two weeks.

From our car trouble
on the drive down
to navigating a wheelchair
down the streets of
downtown Rochester
as lightning flashed overhead
to flying down the corridors
of the Mayo Clinic
to the actual appointments themselves,
our trip was full.

And our minds, swirling.

I know that many of you
have been patiently waiting
for updates and I thank you
for allowing me time
to collect my thoughts.

And, I imagine, that you're
waiting to hear either
a "Yes" or "No"
about proceeding with
proton radiation therapy.

Allison and I
certainly expected to hear
what our next chapter would be.

So which is it?

"Yes" or "No"?

Can I offer you a third option?

There is much to be said,
but the bottom line is this:
we are *not* going to do
proton radiation
or any other radiation
at this point in time.

We had deep conversations
with the Mayo Clinic team
and they were
very straightforward with us.

They recommended that
I hold off on playing
the radiation card *now*
because the surgery
did get clean margins,
including
the perinural invasion,
and going through
proton radiation
at this point,
for cancer cells that
may or may not be
traveling through my nerves,
is not the best moment
to use my last chance at
receiving any type of radiation
to my head and neck.

So we decided that even though
there is high risk
cancer cells might still be there,
we will take that risk
and continue to be
as vigilant as we can
and save radiation for
when it is absolutely necessary.

Going into this we were torn
but thought radiation
was what we needed to do.

And according to
the standard of care

for my Stage IV Jaw Cancer,
radiation *was*
the next right thing.

But, I'm not standard.

My body is not like
everyone else's body

And I am reminded again
—for better or worse—
how much of this life
is not in my control.

Honestly,
it was very hard to settle on "No",
but also, frankly,
we are both very relieved
to not be going through
radiation right now.

So this is where we all collectively
breath a sigh of relief
and thank God
that Sean doesn't
have to have...wait...what...???

But of course there was
an unexpected twist.

How could there not be?

I had a PET scan
while I was there and
the results showed
a spot on my liver
that looks
concerning for cancer.

The spot was not there
on my scan
from a few months ago
and, given my history,
doctors think it is highly likely
that it is cancer,
but stressed that it could also
be something benign.

I want to stress that this
is *not* confirmed cancer
at this point.

But if it is cancer,
they said it might be
a new, primary cancer
OR
metastatic cancer
from the oral cancer
that was just removed.

If it is the latter,
having radiation to my jaw
wouldn't have mattered anyway.

If it is the latter,
we will be having
an entirely different conversation.

We immediately scheduled
an MRI at
the University of Minnesota
which will happen Monday morning.

We also will need
a biopsy for confirmation.

This was not
anywhere
on our radar.

So we will sit with
more uncertainty
for the next few days.

Friends, I know this is a lot
to process and makes
an already complex situation
even more so, but I wanted to
make sure that you're up to speed
on the latest health information.

Allison and I are waffling
back and forth
between worry and denial.

But knowing that "something*
is in my liver that shouldn't be,
reopens the wounds
I try so hard to close.

And maybe,
that's part of the problem.

Maybe *these wounds*
were not meant to be closed.

Maybe *these wounds* are there
to bear witness to
the struggle of one human
trying to survive another day
and find meaning
in the mess of it all.

Maybe it's something
I have not yet considered.

And as we all reflect upon
(or take for granted)
our fragile, fracturing freedoms
this Independence Day,
I am reminded I am utterly
in dependence
on so much more.

On you.
And on You.

But know this:
I am *still* hopeful.

I *still believe* that
there are more good moments to come.

I *still believe* that
our collective story *is still* being written.

And, at the end of the day,
I *still believe* that
Love will always prevail.

But maybe
not in the way that I
imagined
or
hoped
or
prayed for.

And again,
I'm back to knowing nothing.

I cannot thank you enough
for the overwhelming outpouring
of care, concern, and prayers
that you all have been so kind
to share with us and for us.

Your compassion and open hearts
are the best gifts
we could ever receive.

There are more tales
from our trip to share,
but that will have to wait
for another time.

As we pivot, once again,
and prepare for what's to come,
we will absolutely
take you along with us.

Thank you dear ones.

May we all see
the beauty that is buried
in every single thing
—even and especially—
in the hard and impossible things.

And may True Love's
deep peace
surround and fill us all.

+++++++

Final thought for the 4th of July

Those who remember me
in my youth know
that I was sort of
a fireworks conosuir.

And not the
family-friendly Minnesota versions.

We're talkin' rockets,
and launching tubes,
and mortar shells.

But time, health, and a dog
opened my eyes
that those glory days
are behind me.

So I share this photo
of Allison's garden.

Thank you, Allison,
for teaching me that flowers can also be just as powerful.
just as beautiful and
just as patriotic.

And a lot safer, too

.

+++++++

May Christ through your faith [actually] dwell (settle down, abide, make His permanent home) in your hearts! May you be rooted deep in love and founded securely on love, -Ephesians 3:17

Diction: the choice and use of words in speech or writing. It also encompasses the physical articulation and enunciation of those words, determining how clearly a person speaks

Self conscious: an uncomfortable heightened awareness of yourself and a preoccupation with how others perceive your appearance, actions, or personality. It often involves worrying about judgment or embarrassment, making it difficult to relax in social situations.

Gnarly: a versatile slang term that can mean awesome, extremely difficult, or physically twisted

+++++++

Here's an exhaustive update
on my jaw cancer
surgery and recovery
and what comes next.

+++++++

The Broad View

With the ongoing, 24/7
care, kindness, love, and support
from Allison,
I am making good progress.

I've traded out my walker
for a cane.

I've noticed an overall
reduction in pain.

My mouth and face feel
less swollen and insane.

And, fortunately,
I still remember my name—

Sean—it stayed the same.

Ok, I'm sorry,
that was really lame.

(Alright, alright, that's enough : )

Of course there is still
soreness and stiffness,
including in my shoulder
due to the removal of
the lymph nodes in my neck,
but I continue to improve
bit by bit.

I'm starting to take
more of my meds by mouth
and swallowing
in isolation
is about the same.

+++++++

Eating

Eating...is an experience.

While I still rely on the g-tube
for most of my calories,
I am beginning
to experiment with eating.

It's been more challenging
than I thought it would be.

I've graduated to
mashed potatoes and yogurt—delicious!

Thursday night I tried
macaroni and cheese.

On the first bite, I quickly realized
this was going to be tricky.

Because of the surgery,
the alignment of my teeth
is completely altered.

Now, when I bite,
only 3 front teeth touch together.

That, combined with
the loss of most of my molars,
and the fact that the molars
I do have
no longer touch together,
I am now fully reliant
on these 3 front teeth.

I would say I can nibble
more than saying I can chew.

Picture a little rodent
eating a piece of cheese—eeeek!!

+++++++

Voice

I am struggling to find my voice.

This is both a cliché and a reality.

Because of
the new tissue in my mouth,
my tongue is not able to maneuver
like it did before.

This makes my words
sound flat and dull
and prevent me from producing
crisp, clear diction.

In my head it sounds muffled.

Allison quipped in the car today,
"I wonder if people will think
you've had a stroke."

That hit me hard.

And I bet she is right.

It's challenging and frustrating
to know the sound and quality
of my voice
is not the same.

While people have said
they can understand me,
it still is awkward work
and I do have to repeat myself.

I continue to do exercises
to strengthen my lips and tongue,
which are partially paralyzed and numb.

Doctors say it might take
6 months
to hear improvement
but, right now, losing the ability
to speak clearly
and
remembering the need
to deliberately slow down when I speak
saddens me.

When you’re suddenly stripped
of something that is so basic and
fundamental to your everyday life,
the difference is deafening.

You cannot help but become self conscious.

You realize that because of the way
you now speak,
people who know you and, especially,
those who do not know you,
are going to project on to you
what is considered “not normal”.

And what was once a subconscious ability
has become a covetous privilege.

I think of the joy of my singing/choir days,
and my first thought is that
in this moment
I would probably never make it
through an audition today.

This also saddens me.

And I feel another piece of me
has been washed away.

Please, take a moment to recognize
how wonderful it is
to speak and to be understood.

And remember,
every word you speak
is precious and a gift.

Choose your words wisely.

+++++++

Leg

My left leg is continuing to heal
though some spots
still look pretty gnarly.

It is sore and stiff
and my breathing is labored
even after a short walk.

Allison still must continue
to change the leg bandages
every day.

+++++++

What Comes Next: Mayo Clinic

Going to Mayo Clinic
feels like a trippy and surreal,
full-circle circus.

We started
this medical mystery at Mayo.

I was diagnosed with
Fanconi Anemia at Mayo.

And depending what happens next week,
a lot might be ending at Mayo.

We have appointments
with the Mayo Clinic oncology team
scheduled for next
Wednesday and Thursday.

Our first appointment is
Wednesday at 6:00am
so we have decided to stay
in a hotel for 2 nights.

Just thinking about the logistics
and practicality of getting
to the hotel and navigating
the labyrinth that is the Mayo Clinic
will be a big challenge and,
unfortunately, most of
the planning and execution
falls
on Allison's weary shoulders.

Our most consequential appointment
will be with the radiation oncology team
(Wednesday afternoon)
who will most likely give us
a thumbs up or thumbs down
on proton radiation therapy.

Either way,
their recommendation
will forever alter our future.

Yesterday, I spent hours
trying to update my health history
in the Mayo Clinic Patient Portal,
which is required for the appointments.

I cannot fully articulate
how cumbersome this is
for a person
with my medical history.

And as I reached back in time,
I was reminded again
that this little family
has endured so much.

So many hard things.
So much heaviness.

The cost
physically, financially, and emotionally
is so very high.

And for a moment
I let the weight of it all
crash, crush, and consume me.

And, I know for certain,
more harrowing moments await.

So now, once again,
I put my body, my life, and my trust
into the hands of Mayo Clinic
doctors and nurses.

I have been truly blessed
to be able to receive
nearly all of my care at
M Health Fairview
(aka Unversity of Minnesota Medical Center)
conveniently located
15 mins away
from my house.

And I know people
upend their entire lives a
nd fly across the country
and the world to be seen
at the Mayo Clinic,
but it's still a huge burden to navigate
for anyone with
severely compromised health.

Know that we will carry and
hold on tightly to
your love and prayers
as Allison and I start
this next hard and Holy moment.

We continue to be humbled
by the love, generosity, and support
of our community.

From all of you.

Truly, you are our extended family.

+++++++

The image today comes courtesy
of my dear, sweet friend, Kelly Holst,
who read one of my writings
and thoughtfully crafted
this beautiful embroidery.

It speaks to me.

At this point in my life,
I want to fully uncover and
reveal my roots with you.

And just maybe, as those
roots get nourished and tended to,
indescribable blossoms will emerge,
bringing new hope and new life
to all who take the time
to stop and notice them.

And with that, I invite you
to join me in a prayer you are all
always welcome to pray—

"Thy will be done."

Amen. May it be so.

+++++++

Sullen: being gloomily angry, silent, and unwilling to be sociable. Someone who is sullen shows their irritation through brooding, quiet resentment, or a general refusal to be pleasant or talkative

Stupor: a state of near-unconsciousness, extreme lethargy, or mental numbness. A person in a stupor is barely aware of their surroundings, has dulled senses, and usually only responds to intense physical or emotional stimuli (like pain or loud noises).

Paradoxical: describes a situation, statement, or feeling that seems absurd, self-contradictory, or logically impossible, yet reveals a hidden truth or actually happens

I write this knowing that
nothing is final,
but I want you to join us
for every moment,
especially in the grey, unknowable,
and unsearchable times we are in.

+++++++

Yesterday was full
of new news and
mixed emotions.

First, the good.

My sister, Tara,
is at MD Anderson in Houston
and just heard that she qualifies
for the gold standard cancer treatment
for advanced appendiceal cancer
that has metastasized
into the lining of the stomach
(the peritoneum),
called HIPEC surgery.

Getting this type of treatment
was Tara's
fervent hope and prayer.

She will have a major surgery
at MD Anderson on July 14th
and will need to stay in Texas
for a month while she recovers.

Thank you all
for your continued prayers
and support of her GoFundMe
to help make this
miraculous moment
and procedure possible.

In other good news,
my current recovery,
while still a daily struggle,
is going as well as could be
and I give thanks to all of you
for continuing to walk alongside us.

Unfortunately, yesterday also
brought hard news.

Let's back up a moment.

On Wednesday, I met with my ENT
for a follow-up
and to discuss the findings of
the FA Tumor Board meeting.

Here's what we learned:

1. The cancer
that had progressed
to my jaw
was classified as Stage IV.

With that diagnosis,
I have now
"hit for the cycle"
in having had
every stage of cancer.

2. When my doctor looked
at my mouth on surgery day,
she was shocked to see
how fast the cancer had progressed
in the few weeks
since the original surgery.

She said that without treatment,
the cancer would have taken over
very rapidly,
presumably even much quicker
than the 3-9 month estimate
they had first predicted.

3. My doctor stated that
the FA Tumor Board concluded
that radiation to the jaw
would be the next
appropriate course of treatment
as my pathology results
revealed that this was
an aggressive cancer
with perinural invasion
(cancer had moved into my nerves).

Yesterday, Friday, as we were getting
mentally prepared
for what that treatment
might mean,
we received another call from my ENT.

They informed me that after
reviewing my chart
there was significant overlap
from previous radiation
to the same area
that makes it virtually impossible
to re-radiate the area with the
type of radiation machine
at the U of MN without
significant and permanent damage,
possibly death of the bones and tissue,
permanent pain, and
permanent loss of speech and swallowing.

This outcome could be the result
for any of us in this scenario,
not just those with FA.

Now my only option is to try
to get approved by Mayo Clinic
for proton radiation
which is a more targeted and
different type of radiation therapy.

This, too, may be a long shot
to even be considered.

In 2019, I explored getting
proton radiation at the Mayo Clinic
and they would not proceed.

If Mayo says no
there is nothing more to be done
to try to eradicate
any of this aggressive cancer
that we know
has gone into the nerves
and could still be lingering.

If Mayo says no
this could be a quick end.

There is a strong possibility
that the perinural cancer cells
could migrate, possibly into
the base of the skull,
at which point
the standard treatment
would be...radiation,
but probably not for me.

Potentially loosing
the radiation tool
in my survival tool kit
is a hard pill to swallow.

But what's hardest to bear is that
we don't know what we don't know.

I feel my life
suddenly becoming much smaller
and the weight of all this
has broken me right open.

I'm shocked, stunned, and
left stammering as, up until now,
there's always been another option
on the table.

I've recently lamented on
how having options/choices
is hard.

But now knowing
I'm potentially
out of other options
is something
I do not love either.

So we sigh, again.
We lament, again.
We mourn, again.

And we pray.

I know this is a lot
to unravel and process,
but I truly appreciate you
for trying to understand.

As we wait to hear back
from Mayo Clinic,
hopefully early next week,
I would appreciate
your continued
care and concern
for my family.

I offer up the opportunity
for you to join me in prayers
of thanksgiving for Tara
and hope that this treatment
gives her the best outcome.

And, also, I would be grateful
for your prayers and healing energies
sent our way for acceptance
for whatever comes next
for Allison and me,
and our life together.

Sharing my news with all of you
has been a much needed outlet
to feel like I'm still
connected and in community
with all of the people
I love so much.

And yes,
that most certainly includes you.

Last night,
in a sudden, sullen stupor,
I found myself consulting on old friend.

And right now,
I will now end and rest on his
paradoxical prayer:

"The Lord gave
and the Lord has taken away;
blessed be the name of the Lord!"
-Job 1:2

+++++++

Today was a big day for us 
on Hillcrest Avenue.
Allison and I are celebrating 
our 24-Year
Wedding Anniversary.

Also today, I was given 
the "all clear" to begin 
drinking clear liquids again.

These two milestones 
have melded 
into one overarching theme.

Our life together 
has not been easy, 
but it has been strengthened 
bit by bit, 
moment by moment 
by the little things.

And it is in those little things 
that we have built up 
such a strong foundation of mutual caring, trust,
and respect.

Allison is loving me 
through the little things.

Celebrating 
my first glass of ice water.

Ordering Popsicles.

Dressing 
my wounds and incisions.

Preparing 
my meds.

These simple acts of Allison's constant love and grace, compounded year after year, 
have built our relationship 
much more so 
than any big gesture 
that some seek as necessary 
for a "good" marriage.

And it has me wondering:

What if we always treated 
the little things 
as 
the big things?

What if we were wowed 
by the simple and mundane?

How would that shift 
our priorities and perspective?

As I take another sip 

of cold ice water, 

I treat it like it is 

the greatest gift 

I have been given.

And, in reality, it is true.

As I seek out the little things 
in my recovery, 
in my life and 
in my marriage, 
my world suddenly becomes 
full of wonders and miracles.

This simple
yet profound shift 
is my hope for you, too.

It is with this
refreshed outlook 
on life and love that I'm 
humbled and grateful to say:

Thanks be to God for water!
Thanks be to God for Allison!

Thanks be to God 
that I am still awed 
by the simplicity 
and the smallness 
of every good thing!

May you know 
the pure joy of water
and the small gifts of life 
that are *always* 
waiting to be discovered 
in every moment.

Grace and Peace, beloveds.

+++++++

Yesterday marked two weeks
since my mandibulectomy 
so I thought I'd give you 
a blow by blow 
of where we are at.

The surgery itself
was a success.

From a medical standpoint
everything 
went according to plan.

We honestly thought 
I might still be hospitalized 
at this point, 
so the fact that 
I've been home for a while 
is welcome news.

My biggest concern 
before the surgery 
was the post-op pain, 
but I am grateful to say that, 
for the most part, 
it has been managed. 

My kidneys 
are also holding steady 
and there have been 
no signs of fever or infection.

I am so thankful 
that our biggest concerns 
did not come to pass.

At least not yet.

There is still much swelling 
in my neck 
which also includes 
a nearly ear to ear incision, 
but that, too, is healing well.

I have a knee to ankle
incision down my right leg 
that has been held together 
by 30 staples, 
where they took a major artery
and the fibula to replace
my missing jawbone.

My mouth 
feels garbled with marbles 
as I stumble and mumble 
over my words
with a mouth full of tissue 
that was never meant to fit 
into that small space.

I am concerned that this has
permanently 
altered my speech, 
but only time will tell 
how that plays out.

It will be at least 18 days 
before I will be able 
to put a drop of water 
in my mouth.

All I can think about 
is taking that first sip 
of ice cold water, 
feeling it 
run down my throat, 
and envisioning how glorious 
that moment will be.

Until then, it torments me 
not to allow 
for this basic necessity.

We now enter into
a moment where there are
more medical puzzle pieces 
still left to figure out.

1. Upon the reading 
of the pathology report, 
it showed that cancer 
had in fact moved
into the jaw,
meaning that if I did nothing 
the cancer
would have continued to spread quickly
and become even more problematic 
in short order.

2. The pathology report 
also noted
perineural invasion,
meaning that the cancer had/has also
moved into my nerves. 

And from the nerves, 
the cancer can spread anywhere.

Because of this, 
the standard of care 
would be to follow the surgery
with radiation.

This presents a problem.

I have already had 
total body radiation 
and radiation focused 
on the other side of my neck.

Combine that 
with my Fanconi Anemia 
and predisposition 
and extra sensitivity
to radiation on a basic level 
and adding even more radiation
to this body 
becomes much more risky.

Next week, FA experts 
from across the country 
will look at my case and 
assess my ability 
to have this additional radiation.

Depending on what they say 
I might be back 
in a similar predicament 
I was in before the surgery.

Will I be forced to make
yet another
life extending/shortening treatment choice?

I will wait until next week 
to figure that out.

In the meantime, 
I'll give thanks 
for the moments I do have.

I'll give thanks for Allison 
and her life-saving
love and care.

I'll give thanks for Maya 
and the joy she brings 
to my world.

And I'll give thanks
for all of you.

For the notes/texts/cards 
of encouragement, 
for your generosity 
to us personally
and our efforts 
with The Negative Space, 
for the love and generosity 
shown to my sister, Tara, 
for the showers of flowers 
and for all of the kind 
and gentle ways 
you continue to lift us up 
in troubling times.

The myriad ways you
have shown up for us
have all been a literal lifeline, 
helping us to see that, 
even in these hard moments,
beauty and Love 
are still at work in this world.

As we wait
for what comes next, 
I will continue to dream about that ice cold
glass of water 
and what a gift it will be 
when I can finally 
take a sip and say, 
"Thanks be to God for water!"

Today, it is enough
for me to say,
"Thanks be to God for you!"

[18] I assure you, most solemnly I tell you, when you were young you girded yourself [put on your own belt or girdle] and you walked about wherever you pleased to go. But when you grow old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will put a girdle around you and carry you where you do not wish to go.

-John 21:18

+++++++

The truth is going to set you free Or so the sages tell

The truth is going to set you free But first it hurts like hell

- Craig Minowa

+++++++

We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.

-C.S. Lewis
The Problem of Pain

Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.

-C.S. Lewis

The Problem of Pain

+++++++

My friends,

Today I am pondering
these words
from the Wisdom
of past and present
and the implications
they have for my life.

My mind is carrying
an unbearable weight
and is solely focused
on my upcoming
jaw cancer surgery
in a few, short hours.

Yesterday I saw my oral surgeon for one last peek
in my mouth
and she could see that my mouth was again
showing signs of cancer.

Allison and I
took strange comfort
in that by seeing this,
it was a good idea
to have the surgery.

But now, I must admit,
I have deep concern
about the pain and suffering
I am consciously asking surgeons to inflict upon me.

It's not fair
that Allison and Maya
also get pulled under
by the weight of bearing witness to this suffering
all while being thrust
into another intense caregiving experience
in the wake
of such a traumatic event.

In this moment,
we are being carried
where we *most certainly*
do not want to go.

I am being asked to submit
to something that will undoubtedly bewilder my body and hurt my heart.

When I was younger,
I did have
a pretty, carefree life.

I could go where I wanted.
I could do what I wanted.

I had the privilege of being oblivious and ignorant
to most problems
effecting our world
as I spent my days
within the cozy confines
of my little life.

But I am older now.

And, in many ways,
I am much, much older.

I have been
grizzled and wizened
by a body that keeps breaking
as it limps and stumbles along
to the next
prickly,
precarious, and
painful procedure.

And I ask myself:

"Is this it?
Is this the road I will travel on until I reach
my literal dead end?"

The Bible verse I shared says
I'm being "carried" to where
I do not wish to go.

And I wonder:
who is carrying me?

Is it my disease or my God?

And it hits me that the answer to that question is both/and, and more.

I'm carried by Christ and Cancer-- My Light and My Affliction.

I am also carried by
my fear,
my doubt,
my heartache,
my past,
my present, and
my future...
...by things
seen and unseen.

And I am being carried

by your
love,
compassion, and
support.

My friends,
God never told me,
"I won't give you things
that you cannot bear."

And, in fact, those unbearable moments
are something
to be experienced by all of us.

God carries me straight into the fire to be burned and scarred--again and again.

Why?

This may sound like hopelessness to you,
but it is something
more than that.

By being burned
again and again
I also see God
with a deeper and purer clarity.

But why must I endure
this suffering?

Because that is also
where Love lives.

It's comforting
when we find Love in the beauty surrounding us.

But when we find out that Love has actually been living
in the fiery furnace also,
it shifts our reality.

As Christ descended into Hell,
so has Christ also descended
into my personal Hell.

Love is forged in fire
more so than in freedom.

Suffering shows us a side of Love that we would never see
without that suffering.

When I am being burned
and consumed by cancer
I realize that I am also
being carried by Christ.

Because Christ was already there flickering in the flames
of my pain.

It has been my experience
that Christ is more fully revealed and present
in my suffering
than in my little life of leisure.

And thank God for that.

Suffering has made me
turn inward to see
that The Indwelling Spirit
of my innermost self
knows well my suffering.

This is hard to say this
because I don't
want any of us to suffer.

But know that through the suffering and tears of your life Love is already there,
absorbing the hurt
and reflecting back to you

God's own
suffering and tears.
For you and for me.

Suffering is inevitable.
But so is Love.

And when you are carried
to where you don't want to go, know that your suffering self might also be
carrying you
into a whole new relationship with God,
with Love itself.

And know this: I, too,
will be waiting there
to share your tears,
and feel your fears.

The next time you are carried to a place
you *don't* want to go,
hold out hope that within
the mystery and uncertainty

of it all

it just might be exactly where you *need* to go.

+++++++

Friends,

I cannot fully express the
gratitude I have felt over these past few weeks.

Your kindness, caring, and generosity is all the proof I need to know that God, that Love, continues to carry us through the beautiful/terrible things of this one awe-filled life.

It is my fervent prayer that you know and experience this Love

for yourself.

Thank you for showing up.

Thank you for being my people.

I love you all.

+++++++

*A word about suffering. Suffering is subjective. I do not expect my experiences of suffering to be the reality of everyone's suffering and I would never assume someone's suffering will always lead them to new understandings about their relationship with God, Love, and that suffering in and of itself. Suffering can also be just what it is and nothing more.

+++++++

’Twasn’t me, ‘twas the Lord!
I always told Him,
‘I trust you.
I don’t know where to go
or what to do,
but I expect You to lead me,’
an’ He always did.

I prayed to God
to make me strong
and able to fight,
and that’s what
I’ve always prayed for
ever since.”

-Harriet Tubman

Ramifications: the consequences of an action or event,
especially when complex or unwelcome

Decision: the act, process, or result of
making a firm choice, conclusion, or judgment
after considering various alternatives or facts

+++++++

My dear friends,

I have spent the last several days
listening.

Listening to the wisdom
of so many
who have personally experienced
much life, suffering, and death.

Those who have held out hope
in the midst of complete despair.

Those who have saved lives
of the sick and enslaved.

Those who can always see
a path forward
when the road becomes covered
in chaos and cancers.

I’ve listened to:
My Doctors
My Nurses
My Pastor
My Teachers
My Family
My Friends
My Healers
My Death Doula
My God.

“My God!”

And so many of you.

I have listened to it all.

I have spent many moments
in discernment.

And now, I shall speak.

Allison and I
have made the decision
to go ahead with the surgery.

At the end of the day,
there was truly
no right or wrong choice.

But, also,
there was no “good” option.

And that’s why
it has been so difficult.

There is still
an unsettling, uneasy feeling
about going forward
with this complex surgery
and the ramifications
that come with it.

But after
the searching
and
the questioning
and
the crying
and
the pleading
and
the praying,
I was reminded
again and again:

This *is* a Love Story.

And if the last few weeks
have shown me anything,
it has shown that I am loved
beyond my wildest imagination.

And, for now, I want to stay
in that ongoing flow of Love,
hidden with Christ in God,
with my feeble feet firmly planted
in this weary, broken world.

In this moment
I choose to be here,
with all of you,
my beloved friends and family.

But here’s the reality
of making this decision.

There are no guarantees.

I will spend the next few weeks
wondering if this was
truly
the best decision.

There’s a 50/50 chance
my kidneys will fail me
during the surgery.

There’s a good chance
I could become septic.

There’s a high probability
that I may never fully recover
to the way that I am
in this moment:
physically,
mentally, and
emotionally.

There’s an absolute certainty
I will be in a position
like this again
and forced to make
another impossible choice.

Also, by choosing
to move forward,
we will need
to lean heavily on you.

All of you.

You are the gamble
and the price for more of my life.

And so, yet again,

I stretch out my empty hands
and ask you to fill them
with your love and presence.

Will you show up for us,
once more?

Will you help Allison
navigate another
harrowing and overwhelming
caregiving moment?

Will you watch over Maya
as she witnesses her dad
going through
another painful procedure?

Will you do what you can
to ease their burdens?

Throughout my life,
I have thanked God
that I have been loved well.

And this moment is no exception.

From my point of view,
I have been able to witness
the caritas, the charity
and the abundance,
you so freely share with us.

And it comes from everywhere.

From places and people
you know well
and from places and people
you would never expect.

While our world swirls
in a seemingly sick,
and sad stew,
something sacred
is also happening.

Love is springing up all over.

And, I am convinced,
that at the end of the day,
Love will gather us all.

And so I say “yes”
to the surgery and
to the pain and
to the suffering
just so I can be here
long enough
to see the looks
on your faces when
Light, Peace, Grace, and Hope
is poured out on all of you.

Simply because you are you.

And that, my friends,
makes life worth living for me,
for right now.

Thank you for your unwavering support
throughout my life,
and especially
in the very difficult,
yet Holy,
moments to come.

May Love and Light
shine down on you all
my friends
and
my fellow travellers.

.

Definitively: in a final, conclusive,
or authoritative manner
that settles a matter
without doubt
or need for further change.

+++++++

My dear friends,

Allison and I are living in
one of our hardest moments.

We feel trapped in that
we have to make
an impossible decision.

After several appointments
with doctors
from my ENT,
oral surgery,
palliative care, and
nephrology team,
we’ve been inundated
with information
about what it would look like
to go through
this next major oral surgery.

We also were told
what to expect
if we do not go through with it.

Both paths are mind boggling.

Both paths have
very real, very hard
consequences.

We are exhausted
from the constant onslaught
of cascading cancers and
multiple medical procedures.

And choosing to go into
another 13-hour surgery
has made me pause
to discern if this is something
I’m willing to do.

If I do not have the surgery,
according to my doctors,
I would have months, not years,
left to live.

Hearing that pronouncement
leaves me stone-cold sober.

In doing the surgery, there is
no guarantee
that I’ll bounce back
or
that another cancer
wouldn’t
come take its place
while I’m still healing.

My doctors have been excellent
in letting us know
they would support
whichever choice I make.

And so today, I lay this
before your feet feeling
exhausted, shocked, and sad.

Either path I choose
is bound to come with
much pain and suffering.

Either path will wreck me
and reek havoc
on my heart/mind/body.

Either path is filled with trauma.

And, I question,
”Is this finally all too much?”

Is this the moment I say,
“No more.”
or
“Know more.”

I zoom out to look around
at our weary world
and see the chaos,
harm, and destruction
taking place
by a few angry men
and I think,
“will it just continue
to be more of this?”

But then I zoom in
to look at Allison and Maya
and our little family,
whom I love fiercely,
and I think,
“what is fair to them?”

“How does my decision
impact their lives...”

+++++++

What do we do
when there are
no good options?

When there’s no easy way out?

When every decision
comes with a cost
and a price to pay?

Some turn to
prayer and pleading.

Some turn to
family and friends.

Some turn off completely.

I go into this decision
already fractured and fragmented
from fifteen years fraught with
medical mishaps and mysteries.

What’s the loving choice?
What’s the kind choice?

In all of this,
one thing remains obvious:
I do have a choice.

And that may be
the most unbearable thing
I know.

Choice.

Choice leaves the door
cracked open for me,
should I want
to walk through it.

Choice puts me
in the driver’s seat of decisions,
but it leaves me no road map
to show me where I’m going.

And maybe that means
I’m not
confined to this life’s
permanent prison
just yet.

But hope is quickly
fleeting and fraying
making it hard to continue
the game that I’m playing.

Whatever the path I choose,
I will do so
in a frail and brittle body.

Choosing to go ahead
with the surgery will,
almost certainly,
bring me right back
to this predicament
in weeks? Months?

Choosing to not have surgery
solidifies my spot
on this sinking ship
that is going to
steadily and definitively sink
to the bottom
of the deepest depths.

It now feels like
one minute to midnight.

One minute before
the cuckoo clock crows,
crying out to me:
“Tic, toc, Sean.
Life moves on--
with or without you.”

+++++++

All I can ask is that you
stay with me
here.

Sit with me in the midst of
terrible options.

Pray for me
that I may discern
what Love is asking me to do
in this
harrowing,
horrific,
Holy
moment.

Whatever comes next,
thank you for trying
to help hold
the ungraspable sands
as they continue to slip through
my trembling hands.

.

[3] There is no soundness in my flesh because of Your indignation; neither is there any health or rest in my bones because of my sin.

[6] I am bent and bowed down greatly; I go about mourning all the day long.

[8] I am faint and sorely bruised [deadly cold and quite worn out]; I groan by reason of the disquiet and moaning of my heart.

[9] Lord, all my desire is before You; and my sighing is not hidden from You.

[10] My heart throbs, my strength fails me; as for the light of my eyes, it also is gone from me.

[17] For I am ready to halt and fall; my pain and sorrow are continually before me.

-Psalm 38:2-3, 6, 8-10, 17

+++++++

Friends,
I come before you today
from my couch.

My body is sore,
my head hurts,
my mouth quivers,
there’s gauze stitched
into my bloody flesh,
and I’m exhausted.

Yet, there is more news
that I must share.

As the doctor was
pulling out my teeth,
he found cancer cells
attached to the tooth
and into the cavity
where my tooth was.

Bottom line: He believes
there is more cancer in there.

“Your arrows have sunk into me
and stick fast”

At this point, the standard of care
is to remove a whole section
of the right side of my jaw
and undergo radiation.

But doctor’s concern is this:
because
I have already taken
so many body blows,
can I endure another grueling one?

And how long before
another cancer takes hold?

Going into this surgery,
this scenario was not
on our radar.

And we’re left
with no good options.

Do I attempt a major
13-hour surgery
to take out my jaw bone
and replace it
with bone from my leg?

Can I even have any more
radiation in this body?

If I do nothing, what happens?

There’s nothing to sugarcoat
the harsh reality
laid out before me.

There’s no easy answer
or gentle remedy
to the cancer
eating away at me
day after day.

My body, my safe space,
is anything but.

And so I moan and groan
all the day long.

I wonder how a body
can go through this much
and still hold out
for hope,
for help,
for healing.

For one more miracle
I haven’t considered yet.

Maybe that is
just wishful thinking.

Or, maybe, t
his is where my life
was always meant to go?

Either way, I’m again
given over to
running the gauntlet
of cancer’s crucible.

“Thy will be done.”

This Eastertide has quickly
turned into
another Lenten season.

So while I feebly attempt
to dodge the barrage of arrows
falling all around me,
I cry out to you and You.

Must I continue to drink
from this bloody cup
of communion?

Must You continue
to make me drink it?

I’m ever learning that
living fully in Love’s life
requires surrender
and, sometimes, deeper pain.

As I walk further along
this well-worn, winding path,
I pray you’ll continue
to be by my side.

Thank you for giving me
the space to be myself.

Thank you for giving me
the space to show up
exactly as I am
and have that be enough.

My heart goes out to all
who have to hear hard news
and then still find a way
to move onward.

.

+++++++

[1] I THEREFORE, the prisoner for the Lord, appeal to and beg you to walk (lead a life) worthy of the [divine] calling to which you have been called [with behavior that is a credit to the summons to God’s service,

[2] Living as becomes you] with complete lowliness of mind (humility) and meekness (unselfishness, gentleness, mildness), with patience, bearing with one another and making allowances because you love one another.
Ephesians 4:1-2

+++++++

I always wonder
in the days after Easter,
after a day
of pomp and celebration
that affirms and rejoices in
the Resurrection,
what’s changed?

Are we any different today?

Was it just about great hymns,
hearing another uplifting message,
and sharing a delicious meal
with family and friends?

Now don’t get me wrong,
those are all beautiful, beneficial,
and important pursuits.

But, I wonder,
does that make us
New Wine in New Wineskins?

Or are we
the same old, same old?

Why do we go back
and pick up our battle flags
to prove once again
that we have the sole truth
and are living the right way,
while believing everyone else is wrong
and therefore not worth our time?

If Christ’s Resurrection is truly
an uprooting, earth-shattering event,
why do we immediately
go back to our daily lives and routines?

How have we changed
in the days after Easter?

Or are we exactly the same?

Same problems, same sin,
same self-righteousness,
same bitterness?

You see, if the Resurrection
is real, true, and necessary
it should change everything.

The way we talk,
they way we think,
the way we serve others,
and the way we love
the world and ourselves.

So, as some of us are still in the glow
from Easter Sunday,
how do we truly become
the children of the Resurrection?

How do we honestly and humbly
digest and share
Christ’s dying and rising
from the dead,
and the promise we are
Saved by Grace,
with a world that is done
with platitudes,
in those who
have been burned
by the Church,
and those who are truly
Hurting,
Sick,
Lost,
Hopeless,
Broken,
Abandoned, and
Confused?

How do we lay down our lives
for the people we know
who need our help

AND

for the people
we have yet to meet?

I, too, struggle
with this clear call to die
to ourselves and
to live for others.

As we again
cling to our creature comforts,
how can we,
especially those of us
who have faith
in the Resurrection’s promise,
reimagine and repackage
our thoughts, words, and deeds
to present them as gifts
to all those we think
deserve and don’t deserve
our healing, support,
love and charity:

The Stranger.
The Immigrant.
The Poor.
The Dying.
The Grieving.
The Iranian.
The Haitian.
The Hopeless.
The Helpless.
The Elephant.
The Donkey.

And here’s a suggestion.

If we are still clinging to
our same sources
to guide us in
who to include and exclude
and who to love or hate,
and they aren’t guiding us
to help The Least of These,
or showing us how and why
to engage with the
true suffering of this world,
let’s change the channel
and punt our podcasts.

For this Holy Mystery
and Holy Work
demands our undivided attention.

And let me be clear,
that doesn’t mean
to stop engaging in
public debate and protest
or going against your conscience.

But is it possible that if we’re
intentional and tuned in to
helping, loving, and serving,
especially those who don’t
look, think, act or believe
like we do,
won’t we set ourselves up
for living more fully
in the Resurrected life?

Can you see
how this might be true?

If I told you the people
who have helped, loved, and served me,
the people who have brought
my body back to life
with love and purpose,
it would surprise you
and it would challenge your
understanding of who
is serving out
Christ’s calling in this
troubled world.

In this week after Easter
let’s continue soaking up
the hope that we have
and use it to create
a new community with others.

A community
where the words:

“Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia!”

truly mean something
and let those words reignite
the passion of Easter
and Easter’s life-giving hope
for all of us.

Let’s live like the Easter people
we claim to be.

Let’s love like the Easter people
we are called to be.

Blessings to you
in this Eastertide.

Blessings to you
as you offer up yourself
for your neighbor—
and for the one who you think
is all wrong.

.

.